


Unexpected Muse

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Greg is Sweet, Just two unlikely people falling for each other in an unlikely way, M/M, Mycroft is a Softie deep down, No Angst, No Drama, Older Greg, POV Greg, Reluctant but not unwilling Greg, Very confident Mycroft, Writer / Stage Designer AU, Young Mycroft, slight D/s if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Greg takes some time off and starts writing a screenplay. Mycroft works at the National Theatre. They meet in a cafe and the rest is history.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 41
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, I heard Mark talk about his hair in younger years during a recent Q&A and was weak.

Greg didn’t do many things. One of these things was sitting in cafes just for the sake of it. Yet here he was, in the far corner of a lovely little shop in an alleyway not far from his home, cautiously sipping a still too hot peppermint tea and wondering how he got there.

Well, if you just looked at the plain facts, it was easy. Too much overtime accrued over the last two years and a forced vacation of a whole month. Greg had done everything to avoid it, but here he was. Still in London, six days into forced rest and relaxation. He’d felt silly to book a trip somewhere on his own, and it was, admittedly, quite nice to see the city without being in a rush for once, so he’d stayed.

How he’d gotten into that particular shop was a different and altogether more embarrassing matter. You see, for a while now, Greg had the idea of writing a screenplay. It was a short, silly thing, a rather bleak story, but it had sat in his mind for years now… and if he didn’t take this opportunity to write it out, it would be stuck there, haunting him forever. He had no idea how to actually write a screenplay, but Google was his friend and helper. He’d downloaded the correct software, and after some attempts to write at home, followed the advice he’d found on some blog that having a dedicated writing space could do wonders for productivity. His house wasn’t it, so he tried his luck in the cliche of the writer in the cafe.

It was a random idea at first, walking along the pavement with his laptop in a bag, looking for a place to sit and write. What would other people think, seeing him type? Would he run into anyone he knew? Lost in thought, he’d turned into an alleyway he usually didn’t frequent and laid eyes upon the most wondrous sight. Not the cafe—though he’d find it soon enough—no, it was a man. Tall, slender, clad in dark cloth trousers, a light blue shirt and waistcoat. Open collar, an actual pocket watch chain dangling, gold glinting in the sunlight as he walked. His hair was just long enough to be a bit wavy, floofy, almost, curling over his forehead. He looked in thought as he turned into the cafe and was out of sight.

And that’s how Greg had found himself in said cafe for the third day in a row, strategically placed in a corner, both typing and covertly watching this unusual man do much the same. He had a tablet propped up, with a wireless keyboard, a notebook, in which he sometimes sketched, always completely lost in his work. Greg watched him break his head over something, eyes sparkling when there was a breakthrough, saw him lick his lips in thought, bite them sometimes. He was fascinated by this wonderful creature, who stood out so much among his fellow men, but didn’t seem to have a care in the world about it.

Greg placed his tea glass on the table, shook his head. Right. He had work to do too. He’d thought all of last evening about the right words to have the emotional impact he wanted from that scene, drop some clues while he was at it. He smiled. A detective inspector, writing a murder mystery. A bit on the nose. But it was what he knew best. And liked best, if he was honest. Macabre? Maybe. No one would ever read it, so what was the point in worrying.

He put down some notes, then looked up, absentmindedly, more out of habit than conscious intent. Just then, his eyes met the ones of the mysterious man, who was looking to his left, right into Greg’s corner. For a moment he wondered what could be there that was so interesting, when the man gave him a smile, which made it very clear that Greg was what was interesting. He panicked for a moment, then swallowed. He managed to smile back, suppressed the urge to wave. Very quickly he turned his eyes back onto the screen, feeling his ears grow red. Had he been so obvious? Did he want it to be obvious? Had he wanted to be caught? Was that why he’d come back?

He looked up again, found that the man had turned towards him, right elbow on the table, chin in his hand. He inclined his head, grinning. There were three unoccupied tables between them. The cafe was never very full during weekday mornings, mostly people who grabbed a coffee to go. Greg’s heart did a somersault. He didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, it felt incredibly flattering, no matter what the outcome would be… on the other hand…

The man was still almost a boy in his eyes. He could be twenty years his junior.

But, god, he was gorgeous. The sunlight played with the red tones in his hair and made him glow invitingly. The cocky grin was irresistible.

“Hey,” the other said over the distance.

“Hey,” Greg echoed almost silently—more a movement of his lips than an actual sound. His throat felt parched.

“Can I come over?”

Greg took a deep breath, then he nodded. The other man smiled and started to gather his things into both arms, carried them over to dump them on the table next to Greg’s. Then he sat down on the bench next to him, only a cushion separating them.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello.”

“My name’s Mycroft,” the incredible man said. “Don’t comment, please.”

“Mycroft? It suits you.”

“I can never figure out if that’s a compliment.”

“It was meant as one.”

Mycroft smiled, leaned one hand on the cushion between them. Greg wasn’t sure what was happening here, but he felt entirely out of control. He also wasn’t sure if he minded.

“Your name?” Mycroft prompted.

“Oh. Sorry. Greg. My name’s Greg. Much more ordinary, I’m afraid.”

“Short for Gregory?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why? It’s a lovely name.”

Greg shook his head. “No one calls me that. Not even my parents, and they chose it.”

“Then I shall have to claim the privilege for my own, Gregory.”

Greg laughed. “You think?”

“You will find that I’m allowed to do so, and if not, you’ll realise it soon enough.”

“You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”

Mycroft took a sip of his coffee, pushed a notebook to align with his pen. Then he looked back at Greg and shrugged.

“Of course I am. I have no reason not to be.”

“The confidence of youth…” Greg mused. “Though at your age, I think I was very different. Police school and such.”

“Ah, how old do you think I am?”

Greg shrugged. “22? 23?”

“My dear man, I am appalled. I’m already 27,” Mycroft replied. “Though I know I have a bit of a baby face. I get reminded of that all the time in clubs.”

Greg sighed. At least 27 didn’t make him twenty years his junior. Merely fifteen. Well, he didn’t know if he should be happy about that. Mycroft eyed him curiously during the break in the conversation, then proceeded to open one of his notebooks. Greg got a good view of a rough drawing of an arrangement of too many chairs in some kind of wave. It was simply rendered, but had a sense of dramatic dynamic to it.

“I work in stage design for the National Theatre,” Mycroft explained. “This new play is mostly set on a ship, but the staging is like the whole place is an office building. There’s this scene where the ship sinks, so these chairs represent the wave that pulls it under… I plan for this structure to be rolled out, unpainted… then some people throw blue paint at it to make it feel like an actual wave, but they also throw paint at the drowning actors to symbolise them going under… But I’ll never be able to get that through. Too much cleanup, possibly repainting the chairs after every performance. And they hate it when the costumes get too dirty. Loved the idea, though.”

Greg turned his head towards Mycroft, who had leaned closer during his animated explanation, so close that their noses almost touched. He drew back a bit.

“I don’t know much about theatre… haven’t been to a play in years… but that seems great. Very visual, dynamic,” he said.

“I know,” Mycroft whined. “That’s why it’s such a shame it can’t be done. Maybe if we use water soluble colours… but how to get it brilliant enough?”

“Doesn’t tonic water glow bright blue under blacklight?” Greg mused.

“What?”

“I had a case, a few years back… Don’t ask me about the particulars, because I’m not allowed to tell you… but my detective friend managed to solve it by proving that the light the witness had seen wasn’t glowing LEDs, but tonic water bottles glowing under a blacklight. It was a weird, weird case… but that detail stuck with me.”

“Oh my god. We need to mix something into water to make it glow under blacklight, which is easily cleaned. Then we can do the scene in darkness, since the ship sinks at night anyway, and the wave will stand out! Gregory! You’re a genius!” Mycroft exclaimed.

He grabbed a pencil and frantically scribbled down a torrent of notes beneath the drawing. Greg felt very pleased with himself all of a sudden, watching Mycroft write in a burst of activity. Not such an unimaginative old man now, he thought to himself. Finally Mycroft dropped the pencil and turned to Greg again. Greg’s heart stopped at the sight of his shining eyes, the eager enthusiasm.

“I need to thank you for this. Properly. The blacklight idea can run through the whole play. It can be a brilliant foreshadowing device. It… my god, please, let me thank you for this!”

“Ah, no need to worry. I’m just glad I could help you.”

“No, no. This won’t do. You’ll have to come to the play, at least. Even though it’s only on in six months or so. I’ll get you a ticket, I promise.”

“Alright. That does sound good,” Greg admitted.

“Perfect,” Mycroft beamed.

Suddenly Greg felt his hand being taken, fingers lifted up and a kiss bestowed on them. Mycroft smiled at him, rubbed his cheek against Greg’s hand.

“I admit I had other plans when I moved over here, but I have to leave you now to discuss this breakthrough with my boss. Promise me you’ll be here tomorrow?”

Greg nodded. He couldn’t do anything but nod.

“Brilliant. See you tomorrow, handsome.”

Like a whirlwind, Mycroft was gone from the shop, Greg staring after him long after he’d disappeared from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg had woken from a less than appropriate dream during the night, which was still haunting him on his way to the cafe. For a while he had considered not returning, but the memory of Mycroft’s jubilant smile and his shining eyes had convinced him of the opposite. After a very long shower, during which his hands strayed to purge the persistent ghost of the night, he’d finally gathered himself enough to step outside.

As he approached the door, he glanced at his watch. 9:13. He was earlier than usual. Maybe Mycroft wasn’t there yet. He’d have time to calm down yet, with a cup of—

“Gregory!”

Greg stumbled as he entered the cafe, looked up to see Mycroft sit at the table he had previously occupied, working materials spread out, waving at him. He waved back, consciously ignoring the pair of women who were the only other customers and had briefly looked over when Mycroft had shouted.

When Mycroft jumped up and walked over, Greg couldn’t help but admire the grace of his movement and it was at that moment that he realised he should give up altogether. He had been captured by this man, completely and irrevocably. Everything he did now was just a token protest.

“Carmen, a peppermint tea for my friend,” Mycroft said to the woman behind the counter, who grinned in response.

“Of course.”

“That was what you were drinking, wasn’t it?” Mycroft asked, his hand finding Greg’s upper arm in a close, collegial gesture.

“Yes, that’s it. How did you guess?”

“I love the smell of peppermint,” Mycroft said with a smile, then leaned in to put his mouth next to Greg’s ear. “You had a wonderful aroma yesterday. I almost couldn’t help myself from sneaking a little taste.”

Greg sputtered and drew back, ears red like they were wont to when he felt embarrassed. He thanked his stars that Carmen had her back turned at the moment, shyly detached himself from Mycroft’s hand and pointed at the table in the back.

“Hard at work?” he asked.

Mycroft grinned. He seemed like he knew exactly that Greg was distracting him, but he let it slide. “Join me and I’ll show you.”

“Alright,” Greg said. “Go ahead.”

Mycroft turned and walked back, Greg’s eyes widened as he saw the sway in his step, pointedly looking back towards the counter, where Carmen placed the glass in front of him. He mumbled a thank-you.

“Do be careful with him. I’ve seen him with many men in here,” Carmen said in a quiet voice as Greg picked up the glass. “Unless of course you’re not bothered by that sort of thing.”

Greg blinked confusedly, then nodding his thanks. “I’ve known him for less than a day. I don’t even know what I should be bothered by… but I’ll keep it in mind. Thank you.”

“This isn’t a warning, mind you. He’s a decent sort. Been coming here for years. But… he’s a bit of a wild one.”

“Noted.”

He walked over, carefully balancing the hot tea, setting it down next to Mycroft’s papers. Mycroft patted the bank next to him, so there was no question where Greg would sit.

“I’m delighted you’d choose to join me again. I wasn’t sure you would,” Mycroft said, their legs touching.

Greg shrugged. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I should. But…” he looked over to catch Mycroft’s eyes and put a hand on his thigh. “After some soul searching, I found myself incredibly willing to be pulled.”

Mycroft burst out laughing, so suddenly and loudly that the two women looked over again, bemused. He grabbed Greg’s hand and squeezed it.

“You’re much more interesting than I hoped. Alright. Good to know we’re on the same page. Now, look here.”

He put one arm around Greg’s waist, used the other to point out a drawing of what seemed like a sparse living room. Greg found himself drawn into Mycroft, feeling his body heat through his shirt. It was nice, after such a long time. What had it been… ten years since his last serious relationship, at least three since the last shag? Damn, maybe he did work too much. Maybe someone like Mycroft was exactly what he needed. Some fun for the sake of having fun. He leaned closer on purpose, and felt—more than heard—Mycroft hum contently.

“My boss and the playwright both loved the idea! We’re using this through the whole play now. You know the whole narrative is supposed to be a bit of a murder mystery and we’ll place handprints on the stage, props and costumes where the murderer touched them. They'll be visible in scene transitions, only for the audience. So they can riddle along, build tension…”

Mycroft talked animatedly, pointing at several drawings. Greg took a leap of faith and put his hand around Mycroft’s waist as well, fingers slipping under his waistcoat just a little. He thought he could hear the other purr a little as he moved closer.

“So… in the end, at the denouement, the murderer raises their hands and you see their palms glow in the same colour. But then the ship sinks and everyone is coloured in the paint and all the effort was for nothing. Bleak, isn’t it?” Mycroft laughed like a child, delighted with a sparkling toy. “Oh, it’ll be so good.”

He leaned over and whispered into Greg’s ear. “I owe you at least ten blowjobs for this.”

Greg sputtered once more. Then he laughed.

“Are you always like this?”

“What? Happy?” Mycroft asked.

“Forward.”

“I see no reason not to be. You told me you want to be pulled and I’m pulling.”

“Fair,” Greg replied. “Fair. Just have a bit of mercy on the sensibilities of a poor, old man.”

“You’re not old.”

“Compared to you? I’m old.”

“You’re older than me, that is all. And I find you incredibly attractive.”

Greg laughed. “Be careful. That might go to my head.”

“Let it go there, handsome. It’s the truth. So anyway, what are you working on? I saw you typing away these last few days.”

Greg froze momentarily. Right. His screenplay. He cleared his throat.

“I’m not working on anything. Dabbling is more like it,” he said, self-consciously.

“Nonsense. You’re writing?” Greg nodded. “Congratulations, you’re a writer. Now tell me.”

Greg cleared his throat. “It’s supposed to be a screenplay someday. Also a murder mystery… but don’t tell anyone. People would laugh if they knew a detective inspector writes such a thing.”

“You never told anyone?”

“No… I had the idea for a few years now… and since I’m on a forced vacation right now I thought I might give it a go. But just for me.”

“Mhm. I feel honoured, then. I’m claiming another one of your things just for myself. You spoil me, Gregory.”

Greg laughed. “Don’t say that before you heard the actual idea. It might still be shit.”

“I doubt that. Every idea needs to to unfold. You work on it and make it better. To that end… everyone can have ideas. It’s the realisation that sets you apart. And since you’re actually writing it, you’re already half-way there.”

Greg swallowed, his throat suddenly closed up with emotions. He’d felt silly, doing this at all. Was sure his colleagues and friends would laugh at him. He’d wanted to laugh at himself. Never in a million years would he have thought to meet someone, who’d take him seriously. He didn’t even take himself seriously.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “You might’ve hit a nerve there. Well done.”

“Us creative types, we aren’t so different. Now tell me the idea and I’ll give a totally unqualified judgement, from the point of view of wanting to get you into bed at some point.”

“You realise I’m a done deal already?” Greg laughed.

“Good to know.”

“Alright…” Greg cleared his throat. “The idea is that the whole thing plays out in a graveyard. One grave is always on screen, be it close up or far away. People have conversations around the grave, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups… talking about the deceased. At first you just learn about his life, but at some point you realise he’s been murdered. And through the conversations, the viewers can deduce who the murderer is, but they are never caught.”

“Wow. Sounds very experimental.”

“I know I—”

“I love it. I can picture it now. Same grave, different days, weather, seasons pass. Surveillance camera style footage of the area… Seeing the people like a blip in the landscape, but still hearing them talk in hushed whispers. You know, if the script holds up, I think this could be really good.”

“You think so? Or do you just want to sweet-talk me?”

“I actually think so. In my professional capacity as a theatre worker,” Mycroft said earnestly. “While the camera perspectives feel very cinematic, the whole narrative feels a bit more suited to theatre, if you can accept my biased opinion.”

“Sure. I hadn’t thought that far.”

“Have you written anything substantial yet?” Mycroft asked and Greg felt his fingers slowly massaging his side through the shirt.

“Notes, mostly. One half scene. But it feels rather daunting. I don’t know where to go, honestly…”

“I can help, if you like. When you like. No, don’t refuse outright. I know from experience that someone, who you can bounce ideas off, is absolute gold. I wouldn’t even have to say anything. You’ll realise a whole lot of shit just talking to me about it, believe me.”

“I thought you just wanted to get me into bed,” Greg mused.

“Well, who said we can’t do both?” Mycroft grinned and leaned in once more. “Tell me your worst ideas while I ride you until sunrise.”

“Jesus,” Greg whispered, the image in his mind too vivid to immediately dispel.

Mycroft grinned, reached for his phone with his left, unoccupied hand, and brought up the search. Greg watched as he typed in ‘cemetery tour’, brought up a website.

“Ah, perfect. There’s a tour this afternoon. If you’re on vacation, you’re free, right? Let’s go on the tour to learn some creepy things about cemeteries… maybe it’ll spark some idea for your screenplay. A friend of mine does these tours, so I know it’ll be good,” Mycroft said and pushed his phone into Greg’s hands.

Greg scrolled through the description. It sounded… interesting, he had to admit.

“I didn’t know there were such things as cemetery tours.”

“Mhmm… people tour all kinds of things. Cemeteries have interesting architecture and an intriguing atmosphere. Why shouldn’t you?”

“Touche. So, it’s a date?” Greg asked.

“Definitely a date. Give me your number, I’ll text you the details later. Bring good walking shoes.”

Greg snatched a pencil and wrote down his number on one of the empty pages of Mycroft’s notebooks. Doing so, he felt like he was twenty again. He was almost giddy.

“Date on a cemetery. Well, not the weirdest one I ever had,” Greg said. “Does that mean you have to leave now?”

“I probably should. I have some work to finish if I want to leave early… and to be honest? I can barely keep myself from kissing you senseless. Besides, I want you to tell me about something new that you wrote today, and if I don’t leave, I don’t think you’ll write.”

Greg smiled. “That’s most likely true.”

He watched Mycroft tidy his things and put them in a large leather bag. His eyes lingered on Mycroft’s hands, his long, elegant fingers. He swallowed, imagining them somewhere else automatically. Mycroft looked up and grinned.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the pleasure to be acquainted soon. Until later.”

Just as Mycroft wanted to stand up, Greg reached out and pulled him back by the wrist. He made a small, surprised sound and turned around, only to find Greg leaning in, placing a shy kiss on his lips, almost not there, a subtle caress. He let his wrist go.

“Until later,” Greg echoed.

He had the pleasure of seeing Mycroft blush for the first time, a becoming flush blooming on his cheeks, reaching down to his neck.

“Menace,” he whispered and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a lovely day out. Early July, sunny skies, just warm enough to enjoy the cooling breeze. Greg had jumped out of the tube two stops ahead of his intended destination, had elected to walk the rest of the way to the cemetery by foot. It was a bit outside the city centre, yet still easily reachable. The area was lovely. Rows upon rows of brick houses, small gardens and a quiet atmosphere. Greg would’ve never thought to take a walk like this, so if nothing else, this was already a win.

Stopping to check the route on his phone, he saw a shortcut through a small park. The area was lush, roses in bloom. He looked at them as he strolled by, the pink colour reminding him of the blush on Mycroft’s face as he’d kissed him. Greg’s ears turned red on their own. Since when had he become so daring? If he’d told himself a week ago he’d entertain such filthy thoughts about a man so many years his junior, he’d have called himself mad… yet here he was. No, there wasn’t anything wrong about it. Mycroft was a (rather enthusiastically) consenting adult. Besides, it was just a bit of fun. A holiday fling, even if he was still in London.

Greg reached the cemetery in a good mood, admiring the decorations on the wall and the old gate before he walked onto the grounds. He wasn’t surprised to see Mycroft sit on a bench near the entrance, scribbling something in his notebook. He had changed, now wearing beige cloth trousers, a light blue shirt, striped suspenders, a red bow tie… and a pair of thin, golden-rimmed glasses, his floofy hair moving lightly in the breeze. Greg swallowed. Mycroft looked downright edible.

He managed to walk up to him without Mycroft realising, and in a moment of daring, put his hand under Mycroft’s chin to turn it upwards. Mycroft looked confused for a moment, then beamed at him.

“Hi,” he said with a brilliant smile.

“Hi,” Greg responded, equally as happy and leaned down to let their lips touch.

The kiss lingered on his skin as they drew apart again. Mycroft licked his lips with a grin.

“Claiming me already?” he mused.

“Mhm. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Not at all…”

Greg sat down next to Mycroft, leaning against him. He didn’t even mind that anyone could see them. How extraordinary.

“I admit I lied to you,” Mycroft said. “The tour doesn’t start for another half an hour. I just wanted you to myself for a while beforehand.”

“Cheeky.”

“That about sums me up, yeah. Mind having a stroll through the garden with me before coming back here?”

“Haven’t done anything this romantic in years. Sure.”

Mycroft closed his notebook with the pen between the pages and put it in his small bag, then reached for Greg’s hand.

“I enjoy seeing you happy. If being romantic makes you smile, we shall have a furious flirtation in the rose garden, my dear Gregory.”

This time Mycroft took the initiative and kissed Greg, soft and warm and loving, licking across his lips as he drew back. Greg made a choked noise that accompanied the arousal which spread like a tingling sensation in his stomach.

Mycroft hummed, delighted. “Come on.”

Greg let Mycroft lead the way, dragged along by his insisting hand, their fingers entwined. Somehow he felt like he was being abducted into a dream. Seeing Mycroft in the cafe was already unreal, having him here, all for himself… was honestly quite fantastic.

“I feel like you might disappear when I close my eyes,” Greg said as they walked between two high hedges, which made the air around them smell of earth and forest.

“I assure you, I’m quite real,” Mycroft said and squeezed his hand. “Want me to prove it?”

“Pray, tell, how would you do that?”

Mycroft chuckled and walked faster, pulled him along the path, then turned right at the end, leading Greg into a darker part of the cemetery, where the mausoleum started. They walked past many smaller structures like little houses, nothing audible except the chirping of the birds, their own footsteps and Greg’s breathing. Then, suddenly, Mycroft pulled him off the path and around a corner, backed Greg against a solid wall.

Greg momentarily forgot how to breathe as Mycroft was on him, all pretense forgotten, kissing him as if he was starving. Despite being younger, Mycroft was just a bit taller than him and Greg found no end in the delight of being crowded by him, head captured in his hands as Mycroft’s tongue demanded entry. He gladly parted his lips and groaned as their tongues met, open and filthy, Greg’s hands on Mycroft’s hips to draw him closer… both gasping as their cocks met, pulsing against each other. Then Mycroft moved to Greg’s neck, nipping as the skin as he leisurely grinded against him.

“Oh my god,” Greg whispered. “Who’s the menace here?”

Mycroft giggled and it sounded so joyful, Greg’s heart jumped. A moment later, Mycroft had sunken to his knees in one fluid movement. Greg instinctively put a hand over his mouth, and it wasn’t a moment too soon as Mycroft rubbed his cheek against Greg’s confined erection. He looked up, eyes blown wide, his face blushing so sweetly.

“Let me suck you, please. I need it.”

“Fuck,” Greg stammered. He almost panicked. “We’re outside!”

“So?”

“You know I’d have to arrest myself for this.”

“Doesn’t that make it so much better?”

Greg breathed helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“See?”

“But you don’t even have—”

Mycroft held up his hand, between his fingers a condom, drawn magically from somewhere. Greg wanted to burst out laughing. The only thing that stopped him was the noise he’d make.

“Don’t worry. I know this corner. I’ve never been caught here.”

“You’ve blown other men here?” Greg asked.

“How else would I know the spot? Let me have you. I promise I’ll be good. I have a lot of practice.”

“God help me,” Greg put his face in both hands. “Alright. But make it quick, minx.”

Mycroft grinned, took the condom package between his teeth and started working on Greg’s trousers. With skilled fingers, he reached into the cloth and drew out Greg’s cock, which was already rock hard, standing up proudly, glistening at the top. Mycroft unwrapped the condom, took it between his fingers.

“Just a taste…” he said, reaching out with the tip of his tongue to lick off the clear fluid dripping off the end of Greg’s cock, groaning contently as he rolled it in his mouth. “Sweet. Like you.”

“Get on with it,” Greg said, impatiently.

“Yes, sir,” Mycroft answered cheekily and rolled down the condom.

He was on Greg not moments after, taking him all the way down to the root, swallowing around him. Greg could barely keep his voice in, bit down painfully on his hand to avoid drawing attention to them. The heat, the pressure… it was pure heaven. He dared to look down after a while, where Mycroft made good on his promise to get on with it. He bobbed his head, alternatively licking and sucking as if there was a prize to be won for getting Greg off in record time.

“Your face should be illegal like this,” Greg mumbled between heavy breaths.

Mycroft looked up then, mouth stretched around him, eyes large and dark as he moved, his expression one of pure devotion.

“You love doing this, don’t you?” Greg asked.

Mycroft hummed his assent, doubled down as if to prove his answer. Greg felt like everything in him conspired against him. There was no way to make this last. He could already feel the coil of arousal low in his belly getting tighter. He wished he could spend himself down Mycroft’s throat, but at least like this he wouldn’t have to give any warning.

“Next time I’m going to fuck your mouth. Hold you still and take what I want.”

Mycroft moaned around him, jumping a little. Greg could see him move his hands lower, possibly touching himself. That was what did it for him. He threw his head back and with a silent shout emptied himself into the condom, Mycroft enthusiastically sucking him through his orgasm. Finally, he pulled off, the outside air cool on Greg’s wet cock. He was still looking skyward, into the tree crowns, when a small noise drew his attention back down. Mycroft had unzipped his own trousers, palming himself where he was kneeling. Greg reached down and pulled Mycroft to his feet.

“Here, let me,” he said and wrapped his hand around Mycroft’s erection.

Mycroft whimpered, buried his face in Greg’s neck as he was stroked hard and fast. He panted and gasped, and in no time at all stiffened in Greg’s embrace, excited breaths hot on Greg’s skin. He turned away from him and spilled over the earthy ground beneath them, shivering, making little, choked off noises as he did.

They held each other, slowly coming to their senses again, Greg enjoying the closeness and the heat as Mycroft laid his head on his shoulder, nuzzling close like a cat.

“Did we really just do that?” Greg asked after a while.

“Real enough?”

“I don’t know. Still feels pretty unreal to me.”

Mycroft chuckled. He reached down and pulled off the condom, knotted it and wrapped it in a tissue. After they were cleaned up and tucked back in, Mycroft ruffled Greg’s hair back into some semblance of form. Greg couldn’t refrain from doing the same to him. Mycroft’s hair felt soft and inviting. He already imagined having his head resting on his bare chest. Soon, maybe.

“A word of warning, though…” Mycroft said as they checked if the coast was clear, before walking out, back onto the path. “My friend will know what we’ve been up to in a heartbeat. Don’t be embarrassed if he grins at you… repeatedly.”

“Let me guess… He’s the one who told you about this spot.”

“Bingo. But we’ve been short-lived. Still good friends, though.”

Greg hummed something non-committal as they made their way back to the entrance of the cemetery, where the tour would start. Short-lived, huh? Well, if Carmen was to be believed, Greg might also be short-lived. Mycroft, at least, made no secret of the fact that he was rather liberal when it came to these attachments. Oh well, if it was to be just a holiday fling after all, at least Greg would’ve had a few enjoyable weeks. He glanced at Mycroft’s profile as they walked. It wouldn’t work out anyway. They were too different, too far apart. Better to accept this as the dream that it was and forget it after waking up.


	4. Chapter 4

Slowly, the group came together. They were 13 people all in all. Most were younger than Mycroft, since it was apparently the thing to do right now, but there were a few older ones as well. Mostly tourists, as was quickly obvious by the way they spoke German and other languages among them. The guide himself was roughly Mycroft’s age, had short, curly blonde hair and an inviting smile. He seemed amiable, chatting with one of the tourist groups as they waited.

Mycroft had been right, though. The tour guide did stare and he did so repeatedly. Fortunately it was more bemused than angry, giving weight to Mycroft’s claim that they were indeed still good friends. Greg felt uncomfortable for about two minutes, then decided he didn’t want to be, because screw it all, and gave the situation no more thought, trying to emulate Mycroft’s carefree attitude.

The tour itself was more interesting than Greg had ever expected. He learned about the history of the area, practices he had never even heard about and saw graves of people he never knew had lived in the UK. He was attentive despite Mycroft’s hand in his, but to his credit the younger man let him enjoy the tour without distracting him consciously. It wasn’t his fault that Greg found him distracting no matter what he did. Especially with the memory of his lips stretched around… Greg shook his head.

“That’s a beautiful figure,” Mycroft said as they walked past a dark stone statue of an angel, wings half broken, overgrown with ivy. The grave beneath was mostly broken by time and weather, but the statue held up, staring from one lifeless eye.

“It’s perfect,” Greg murmured. “I wish I could use it.”

“Why can’t you?”

“It’s a modern grave in my story.”

“Wouldn’t it give everything more depth, more detail if such a figure was on the grave? It would look great in the shots from different perspectives. People would puzzle over why it was there, and maybe it’s a plot device, but you don’t ever have to reveal why.”

Greg stared at Mycroft, dumbfounded.

“Besides, it’s your story. You can put whatever you damn well please in it. The grave could be made of pink flamingos if you want it to be.”

Greg let out a laugh so loud it startled the others, who had gone a few steps ahead. He waved at them to show that nothing was wrong, yet the tour guide still grinned.

“Care to share with the group?” he asked.

“Come on, Alex…” Mycroft said.

“No, it’s fine. He just suggested I make my tombstone out of pink flamingos,” Greg volunteered.

“Sounds like him,” Alex replied, but to his credit didn’t press the matter further, rather turned to wave for the group to look at a couple of columns.

Greg put his arm around Mycroft’s waist as they stood at the back of the group, Mycroft’s head resting on his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Greg whispered.

“Whatever for?”

“For being you. So free in… everything you do. You’re totally right. I should put into the story whatever I please. I should generally just do whatever I please.”

“Would I please you?” Mycroft asked.

Greg blinked confusedly, then the joke hit. Now it was his time to put his mouth next to Mycroft’s ear and whisper.

“Very much. And it would please me to do you.”

Mycroft gave a little gasp and smiled. Greg loved him like this, all shy and bashful. For all his forward behaviour, he was very affectionate and sweet when Greg made a move to meet him in the middle.

The tour was over a little over half an hour later. Alex was chatting with some of the tourists, when Mycroft waved at him and mouthed a thanks. He pulled Greg away from the entrance of the cemetery, back into its depths. Greg looked over his shoulder to also wave at Alex, who gave him a knowing grin.

“Aren’t you going to say hi?” Greg asked as they had turned a corner.

“We see each other often enough. He isn’t the type to be offended by just a wave. I wouldn’t be friends with him if he was.”

“So you choose your friends depending on who goes along with your whims?” Greg mused.

“Anything wrong with that?” Mycroft asked petulantly, squeezing Greg’s fingers. “I am who I am. I am open to negotiation on many other things, but I won’t compromise on that.”

“No, I think it’s lovely,” Gred replied.

Mycroft looked away from him, but Greg could see the embarrassed red on his neck. He let himself be pulled along, until they reached the other side of the large cemetery and stood in front of a jungle of roses. The place was overgrown, blooms of all colours intertwined to form a rainbow thicket.

“Wow. I didn’t know there was such a place here…” Greg said with wonder in his voice.

“Remember what I said earlier? I promised you a furious flirtation in the rose garden… before we got, well, sidetracked.”

Greg laughed, pulled Mycroft closer. “Sidetracked? If begging to suck me off is being sidetracked, then yes.”

Mycroft grinned at him. “Come on, then.”

He tugged Greg towards the overgrowth, ducked away to the left and led him skillfully through the vines until they reached a very old bench, which was partially buried in the shrubbery. Greg sat down on the creaking wood, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sweet aroma of the roses was blooming in the warm summer air, the buzzing of the bees around him a lovely accompaniment to the rustle of the leaves above.

“It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you,” he said, his head falling back to enjoy the sunshine on his face. “I don’t know what I did to deserve falling into your path, but I’m glad I did it.”

“You waste no time,” Mycroft said, dragging one finger up from Greg’s sternum, along his throat, until it reached his lips, where it received a gentle kiss.

“With what?”

“The furious flirtation. Look at me. I’m blushing so hard my head is overheating.”

Greg did look, and what he saw was incredibly becoming. Mycroft was indeed blushing, his eyes lowered, cheeks pink. He was suddenly the complete opposite of the man who’d sunk to his knees just two hours earlier… and he was gorgeous. Greg couldn’t help but kiss him, soft and sweet, gentle touches and cautious noises.

“I like this side of you a lot,” Greg whispered into the skin of Mycroft’s neck, which he had started to worry between his teeth, much to Mycroft’s delight, if the small moans were any indication.

“And the one that propositions you in a cafe mere minutes after we met?”

“Also really attractive.”

“If you had to choose?” Mycroft asked, carding his fingers through Greg’s hair, pushing his head a bit closer as he bit down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Why would I have to? Everyone contains multitudes. It’s all you, and it’s all delightful.”

Mycroft whimpered as Greg’s hands held him down at his waist, fingers digging into him. Greg breathed in deeply, Mycroft’s cologne mixing with the scent of the roses into something which made him feel dizzy. He couldn’t believe this was real. That he was here, with such a maddeningly perfect creature, who wanted him too. He’d hesitated before, but there was something that settled him in knowing that this was all physical. With his previous partners—the ones that hadn’t been just fun for one night—he’d always pursued a relationship first, an emotional connection. Why not the other way around? He pushed the thoughts of having to let Mycroft go at some point in the near future, far out of his mind as his hand wandered upwards, fingers gliding under the suspenders and brushing over Mycroft’s nipple through the cloth. Mycroft released a rather louder gasp at the touch, jerking under Greg’s hands.

“Gregory? May I ask a personal question?”

Greg stilled for a moment, then nuzzled his face into Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Personal? About my life?”

“Ah, well. Let me rephrase that. I meant intimate.”

“What’s the difference?”

Mycroft lightly scratched Greg’s head, which elicited a comfortable purr from the older man.

“This here is the difference. We’re intimate, not personal. I know nothing about you besides your job title and that screenplay. You know nothing about me except my job.”

“Mhmm,” Greg hummed. “Alright, ask me.”

“Are you usually a top or a bottom?”

“It’s been so long, I wouldn’t say usually. But I’ve never actually cared. My longest relationship was with a woman, so I’ve naturally topped most of the time… but with men, I’ve accommodated both,” Greg said, drawing back his head so he could look into Mycroft’s eyes. “You?”

Mycroft smirked, his eyes shining. “Guess.”

“You’re neither, you’re simply a menace,” Greg laughed.

“While that’s true… come on. Guess.”

“Uhm… alright. I’d say top. You mentioned you wanted to ride me, so I guess not completely, but usually a top.”

“Guess your title as detective inspector isn’t just for show,” Mycroft mused. “That’s exactly right. Would that bother you? Having someone so much younger fuck you?”

Greg pulled at Mycroft’s arm until he sat straddling his lap, put both hands on his bottom to draw him closer. As their cocks met, his own erection met an equally excited one. Mycroft groaned, pressing himself closer, head thrown back as he moved in a gentle wave, grinding them together.

“It wouldn’t bother me at all… God, yes… keep moving like that… Hell, I would have you fuck me right over this bench, but for one we’re still, more or less, in public… and since it’s been a while, I’d rather take my time.”

“Gregory…” Mycroft breathed, looking down at him. “I want you.”

“Do you have to be anywhere tomorrow?”

“It’s Saturday… I have plans for brunch, but I can cancel. I want to cancel.”

“Let’s have dinner, then come back to mine and have me the way you want me,” Greg said, feeling emboldened by Mycroft’s reaction. “As many times as you want me.”

They kissed again and moved against each other, revelling in the arousal clouding their thoughts, the scent of the roses and each other’s bodies.

“Yes. I want nothing more than that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Greg had wanted to go to a small restaurant near his home, but Mycroft had insisted they throw themselves into the melting pot, and so they had ended up on the tube on their way to London city centre. Greg hadn’t gone out eating and drinking like this in a while, mostly just grabbing a pint with some colleagues around the corner in their local, then heading straight home. He was, admittedly, a bit excited… hoped he wasn’t too old for this yet. But Mycroft had promised to take it easy on him. They wouldn’t be out for too long—he wanted to get to bed at some point, after all.

Mycroft was leaning against the door at the end of the carriage, Greg directly in front of him, holding on to the metal on either side of his head. The whole tube was packed. Seemed like everyone and their dog were on their way to let the weekend begin on a high note, all dolled up for Friday night. The two of them had come directly from the cemetery, Mycroft still dressed in his adorable combination with the suspenders, Greg in jeans and a dark shirt. Mycroft smiled at him. Now that he was leaning, they were about the same height.

“What are you thinking?” he said. 

In the background, the wheels were screeching on the track, the rush of the hot air through the open window partially caught in Mycroft’s hair.

“That this is nice,” Greg replied. “I could get used to this.”

“Packed tube on a Friday night?”

“No, silly,” Greg smiled and brushed his fingers against Mycroft’s cheek. “Going out somewhere with someone special.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “Special?”

“Everything about you is special,” Greg said and left it at that. 

There was no need to tell this man, who would most probably drop out of his life as quickly as he’d fallen into it, that Greg’s heart ached impossibly when their lips met, when Mycroft looked at him with pink cheeks. It was foolish and would possibly just frighten him off. It frightened Greg himself.

They got off at Leicester Square, like roughly 500 other people, squeezing through the station in a procession of party goers. Greg went ahead, holding Mycroft by the hand. As they stood on the escalator, he felt Mycroft squeeze him playfully through his trousers, and he had to laugh, catching the younger man’s grin. The streets were full, the air warm and voices filled the air with countless conversations.

“I forgot how much I love the city on a summer night,” Greg mused as he stood with Mycroft, waiting for the light to change.

“I love the energy here. To be honest, I like it better on the South Bank, but since I know roughly a thousand people who hang out there I figured… well, I want to come with you to the city, but didn’t want us to be disturbed,” Mycroft admitted.

“Don’t want your friends to see you with an old man?”

“Oh, no. No, no. That’s not it!” Mycroft said with emphasis, held Greg’s gaze. “If I didn’t want anyone to know, I wouldn’t have taken you on the tour this afternoon. Since Alex saw us, roughly half of London must know by now. No, I really just… wanted you to myself for now. Is that so bad?”

Just then the light changed and Greg went ahead, pulling Mycroft along.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable?”

Mycroft laughed. “Many people. Frequently.”

“Doesn’t make that special then…” Greg mused.

Mycroft stopped in the middle of the road, causing Greg to turn back. He took both of Greg’s hands in his and stepped closer, until their noses touched. Around them, a sea of people was flowing, but Greg barely noticed them as he was staring into those stormy blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t still be here if you weren’t special. You caught my eye, I wanted to have you for a night. That night was supposed to happen yesterday. Yet I’m still here.”

Greg smiled sadly. “And after tonight? Once you had me, once you fulfilled your desire, will you leave?”

“I… I can’t say I haven’t thought about it. But not because you mean nothing to me, but because you’ve started to mean something. I’m not good with something. I don’t want to think about it, don’t want to talk about it… not here. But I need you to know that you’re special, and you’ll still be special, even without me.”

“Let’s have dinner, then. Talk about something else,” Greg said.

“Let’s. I have a little Chinese place in mind, where they make perfect hotpot.”

“Hotpot? In this weather?”

“Especially in this weather. Nothing better than a hot summer night to spice things up,” Mycroft stated.

“I bow to your superior wisdom. Lead on,” Greg said with an actual bow and let himself be dragged away through the mass of people and lights and voices.

——————————

After the steamy, muggy atmosphere inside the restaurant the night felt cool and refreshing. Greg took a deep breath of Soho air, smelling grass somewhere on the wind, smiling when the aroma reminded him of his youth. He glanced at Mycroft, who tugged at his collar, having long abandoned his bow tie. The topmost buttons of his shirt were open and Greg could spy his collarbones through them.

“You still want to come to mine?” he asked.

Mycroft nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

“The tube will probably be more packed than earlier. It’s not super far to my place from here… It’s actually near the cafe where we met. It should take us around half an hour to walk, if you’re up for it.”

“A good idea. The movement should help me digest the feast, so I’m in top form when we arrive at your place,” Mycroft said with a wink.

“Glad to hear it.”

Their hands found each other automatically as they started north, first crossing Soho, dodging crowds in front of pubs, piled up rubbish bags and one very loud hen night, then walking on through quiet residential streets, leaving the commotion behind.

“This feels like a date,” Mycroft said after they’d walked in silence for well over twenty minutes.

“Do you want it to be one?” Greg asked.

“Well, we’ve gone through all the motions. Might as well call it one.”

“A date usually has emotional connotations for me,” Greg admitted. “Not just intimate, but personal.”

Mycroft looked at him, his eyes expressing that he’d remembered his words from the afternoon. He looked thoughtful, a bit lost.

“Do I have emotional connotations for you?” he asked.

Greg shrugged. “Honestly? I wouldn’t know yet. You’re exciting, yes. Everything about this is. It might be normal for you, but it’s very extraordinary for me, in the real sense of the word. Though I have the feeling that… I might not be able to stop myself from liking you if we keep this up a little while longer. I’m already rather fond of you. Guess that’s natural if you haven’t been in a proper relationship in a decade, and then someone, who looks at you like he adores everything about you, gets thrown into your arms.”

“I do adore everything about you,” Mycroft said quietly. “Even though everything is still very little.”

“Does that frighten you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Let me know how you decide before I fall for you, alright? I could do without having my heart broken.”

Mycroft gave Greg a soft smile, which was both warm and sad.

“Yes.”

Greg stopped in front of a building three floors high. It was a townhouse in a row of many similar ones on a quiet street. Three doorbells signified that the house was split into three flats, like many of these old houses were.

“This is me. Top floor,” he said.

Mycroft nodded. Greg pulled a keychain from his pocket and unlocked the door, yet before he opened it, he turned around, looked at Mycroft from above, since he was standing on the steps.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes, Gregory?”

“I want you to know… you don’t have to feel pressured about coming up. No matter what we said and done before, if you changed your mind I understand. I want you very much, but I want you without doubt. Just because you flirted with me doesn’t mean I expect you to…”

Greg was cut off by Mycroft’s lips on his, stumbling back against the door.

“Gregory…” he breathed.

“I mean it. You can change your mind at any time, even if you come up now, even when we’re naked in bed. I won’t be mad.”

“How are you still single, you perfect man?” Mycroft asked.

“I’m not perfect. It’s just human decency.”

“Take me upstairs. I want to make love to you all night.”

Greg sucked in a deep breath, turned around and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I miss London?


	6. Chapter 6

It always felt urgent with Mycroft. Greg found it hard to keep his hands to himself in public, and downright impossible in private. In part it was because Mycroft kept encouraging him, in part because the man was just so damn edible. Yet as he watched Mycroft walk ahead of him into his apartment, the urgency dissipated like magic. What a waste it would be to take without savouring… Maybe he’d only get this chance once, no matter how much Mycroft seemed to like him.

Greg locked the door and walked up to Mycroft, sneaked both arms around his waist and put his forehead on his shoulder from behind. He felt Mycroft leaning back into his touch.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Mycroft replied amusedly.

“Any second thoughts?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Alright. I’ll stop asking. But you know…”

Mycroft put his hands over Greg’s and held them tight. “I’ll tell you if there’s anything I don’t like. I promise. But Gregory…”

“Yes?”

“You know that counts for you too, right?”

“Right.”

They stood in the warm embrace, drinking in the closeness for a moment. Then Greg raised his head and started kissing Mycroft’s neck, who immediately melted in his hands, all muscles going soft. It was a heady rush to have someone so willing in his arms. Greg bit lightly on Mycroft’s skin and earned a short moan in a voice so sweet he wanted to hear it again and again…

“May I take my time with you?” he asked, words hot against Mycroft’s skin.

“You can have me however you like. I’m sure I’ll enjoy whatever you have in mind.”

Greg smiled and let his right hand wander lower, brushing over Mycroft’s cock, which was already half hard, before he drew back.

“Alright. Bedroom.”

“Music to my ears.”

Greg laughed as he went ahead, one hand around Mycroft’s wrist to drag him along… but also because he loathed to break contact between them right now. His bedroom was small. It wasn’t messy, but it was packed. Greg had a slight tendency to hoard, and with no one in his life to call him out on it, he’d ended up with shelves upon shelves of books, magazines, old CDs and records. For a moment he hesitated turning on the light, but then he decided to do it.

“I want to undress you. See you. Touch you…”

“I’m not much of a prize underneath it all,” Mycroft said with a self-depreciating grin. “But yes, be my guest.”

“Let me be the judge of that…”

Greg removed Mycroft’s glasses first, then pushed both hands underneath his suspenders. He dragged them slowly over his shoulders, and wasn't surprised when the trousers fell with him. Mycroft was so slender, his hips so narrow… Greg’s fingers wandered down Mycroft’s arms, brushed against his hands, then over his pants down his legs. As he went to his knees, he slowly let his hands go down both of Mycroft’s legs before reaching the dropped trousers. He looked up to see Mycroft look at him with shining eyes, and was temporarily distracted by the bulge, which moved slightly under his scrutiny.

When he held onto the trousers, Mycroft stepped out of them, slipping out of his shoes and socks in the process, until he stood in front of Greg’s bed in just his shirt and pants. Greg sucked in a breath. No matter if he’d already had the man on his knees in front of him, this felt… different. Special. His hand shook a little when he reached out, fingers digging into Mycroft’s waist, moving forward to let their lips meet. Mycroft groaned and dug his fingers into Greg’s shirt in turn, pressing the long line of his body against him.

Greg never wanted to come up for breath again. Both of their hands strayed and fondled and stroked every part of the other’s body they could reach as they sunk deeper and deeper into the kiss, frantically panting, rubbing. Finally Mycroft was the one who drew back, his lips red and slick, tongue darting out to lick them. His face was blushing pink, his hair a mess where Greg had carded his fingers through it. The vision shot like lightning between Greg’s legs, erection pressing painfully against the seams of his trousers.

“Lie back,” he whispered and Mycroft complied, sat down on the bed and leaned back on his elbows. His legs were spread and Greg could make out a wet stain on his pants. All because of him. He swallowed.

His fingers were shaking slightly as he got to work on his own shirt, opening the row of buttons to let it fall from his shoulders. When he looked up from the last one, he could see one of Mycroft’s hands had wandered lower, massaging himself through his pants, the most becoming glow on his face, small movements of his hip. He looked perfect and inviting, carefully arranged as if he’d just stepped out of high production value porn. The association did nothing to calm Greg down.

God, I wish you were mine.

“Come on, let me see you,” Mycroft said.

“Yes…”

Greg removed his shoes, then trousers and socks, until he stood just in his black pants, which he’d worn with foresight that day. He liked how they looked on him, and Mycroft seemed to like it to, if his wide eyes were any indication.

“Off,” he said anyway, nodded towards the last piece of clothing. Greg complied with pleasure, breathing a sigh of relief when his cock was freed, stroking himself a few times as he threw his pants god knows where.

The last bit of doubt about his figure evaporated when he saw the hungry look in Mycroft’s eyes. He found himself moving forward, just as Mycroft moved backward on the bed, until he could crawl over him, straddling his legs so that his exposed cock was lying right on the bulge. Mycroft made an embarrassingly needy sound at the contact.

With all the patience in the world, Greg leaned forward and got to work on the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt, slowly moving his hips as he did, rubbing his cock over Mycroft’s, which was twitching against him in its confines. Mycroft had his eyes closed, head thrown back, arms open on his side, as he let Greg tease him. It was no less of a tease for Greg himself, if he was honest. He’d had Mycroft’s cock in hand before, yes, but it had been such a short interlude… He was desperate to draw this out now.

Finally Mycroft’s shirt fell open. He let his hands wander from his waist over his sides, until his thumbs were at the right height for his nipples and experimentally brushed over them.

“Oh fuck,” Mycroft gasped. “Yes!”

Greg’s breath left him in a shuddering rush. He brushed over Mycroft’s nipples again, felt them hardening at his touch, felt the whole body beneath shiver as he did so. He moved his hand a little, took them between two fingers and squeezed. The cock beneath him immediately strained upwards, growing harder with every bit of pressure he exerted above. He saw Mycroft writhe underneath him, fingers dug into the blanket. Then, finally, he opened his eyes again and when their gazes met, he saw a plea in Mycroft’s.

“Oh, I would love to, darling…” he said sweetly, hearing Mycroft’s answering groan. “But I still need you to fuck me.”

“I’ll… fuck… yes… I’ll be hard again to fuck you, I promise.”

“Is that so?” Greg asked and squeezed a bit harder, probably just on this side of pain. Mycroft moaned loudly, unabashed. His hips tried to move under Greg’s, rubbing himself against him.

“Yes, please…” Mycroft whimpered.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Greg repositioned himself slightly, so that he was leaning on his knees, in the perfect position to rub their cocks together in a fluid motion, settling into a comfortable rhythm, which also filled him with a warm buzz. But this wasn’t about him. This was about the man panting underneath, who moved his hips upward, looking at him like he had the answers to all the questions in the universe. Well, at least he had the answer to the most pressing… He stroked both hardened nipples gently, relishing in the shiver it elicited.

“How hard?” Greg asked.

“Hard,” Mycroft replied.

“It’s going to hurt,” Greg said and Mycroft’s cock answered for him, jumping at the words.

“Yes.”

“Hands behind your head.”

Mycroft complied, hands moving upwards, bunching a bit of blanket between them and the back of his head to see Greg better. His chest moved upwards, pleading. Greg had pity on him. For a moment he leaned down and kissed Mycroft once more, then moved back, settled into his rhythm again and squeezed hard, without warning. A stream of beautiful curses and aborted words fell from Mycroft’s lips as he strained to keep his eyes open, never breaking Greg’s gaze. Greg cursed too. If this went on too long, he would spill himself across Mycroft’s stomach just from the way the younger man made small, helpless noises in response to his touch. It was heady. He hadn’t felt so powerful in a long time, feeling Mycroft twitch with every single one of his touches.

He alternatively massaged the hard flesh, and pressed down so hard he thought it must hurt beyond what Mycroft could endure, but with every push, Mycroft breathed even harder. Greg finally heard the change in pitch in his moans, spotted how it turned from pleasure to desperation and kept on rubbing between his fingers, pressure never letting up.

“Greg— ah—” was all the warning he got.

Mycroft’s hands grabbed him suddenly, pulled him down, and just like that they were locked together lying on their sides, legs entwined, cocks pressed closely together. Mycroft kissed him like he was drowning, moving against Greg once, twice until he cried out, and Greg felt him pulsing against him, feeling the wetness spreading. He pressed himself even closer, both hands on Mycroft’s behind, wanting to feel him as completely as he could.

“Greg… Greg…” Mycroft whispered over and over as he shook and shivered in his arms, and Greg felt his tears wet against his cheek.

He held Mycroft close as he calmed down, twitching every now and then in his arms, stroking his back calmly. Greg was still incredibly hard, but right now that was an afterthought as he tried to commit as much as he could of this fantastic man to memory. Then Mycroft kissed him again, sloppy and warm and he felt his heart do something complicated.

“Thank you,” Mycroft whispered as they parted.

Greg laughed. “My pleasure.”

“Ah, fuck, it hurts…” Mycroft winced, drawing back slightly. Greg looked down to see his nipples red and swollen. “One drawback of the whole thing…”

Greg swallowed. “May I?”

Mycroft blinked for a moment, then he seemed to understand and nodded. Greg moved down the bed a little, before he was level with Mycroft’s chest and slowly, carefully applied his tongue to the abused flesh. Mycroft hissed a little at first, then sighed as Greg’s lips closed around him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Gregory?”

“Hmm?” Greg hummed.

“Let me get out of my clothes?”

Greg didn’t want to let Mycroft go, but he acquiesced since he wanted to see him naked even more. Mycroft sat up and discarded his shirt, then slipped out of his pants, using them to clean himself.

“Well, these are ruined,” he said as he dropped them to the floor next to the bed. “Too bad I can’t leave until they’re washed.”

Greg returned Mycroft’s grin. “I regret to inform you I’m not allowed to run the washer at night. Neighbours, noise… and so.”

“Oh no,” Mycroft replied, slung one leg over Greg’s and gave him a short kiss. “Whatever shall I do?”

You want to stay, Greg thought. With me. Until morning. Then he said it out loud.

“I do. I really do,” Mycroft said and somehow his voice had changed from cheeky to solemn. “Gregory… I…”

Greg stroked Mycroft’s cheek lightly and waited for him to find his words. Somehow he wasn’t afraid of what those would be.

“I find myself in a difficult situation.”

“Darling…”

“I want to turn you around and fuck you through this bed, yet I also want to turn back time and woo you properly.”

“Woo me?”

“Take you out on dates, getting to know you before I put my filthy hands all over you. Who could know behind that tasty exterior lies such an amazing man?”

“Sweet-talked you over dinner, have I?” Greg said with a self-satisfied smile.

“Not only then, but yes. Alas, there’s no turning back. I’ve already defiled you.”

Greg nuzzled his face against Mycroft’s, enjoyed the closeness and warmth between them.

“I love when you defile me, you fiend,” he said and felt Mycroft chuckle. “We can still do that. Date. See where it gets us.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have a month of holidays… well, three weeks left now. Let’s try. I want to try. Bet we’re the perfect couple at the end of it.”

“You don’t mind me… being so much younger?”

“It’ll take some getting used to, I admit. Especially in a relationship.”

Mycroft held him a bit closer, kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being honest. Do I still get to fuck you now?”

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Too bad I’m going to say yes, then. My poor wishes.”

“Well, then I’ll be fulfilling them instead. Turn on your stomach. Lube?”

Greg sucked in a breath. “Bedside table, lowest drawer.”

His body started to crawl. In one moment he had ceded any and all authority. It was… exciting. He adjusted himself as his cock started growing again, then put both hands over his head as Mycroft made a soft, disapproving noise.

“Yes, sir…” he said.

“Good boy,” Mycroft replied and something warm settled in his stomach.

Mycroft proceeded to straddle his thighs, and he sighed, relishing the weight. He expected the snick of a bottle cap, yet all he got was a sigh in return. Then Mycroft’s hands wandered upwards slowly until they reached Greg’s shoulders. At the first dig of his thumbs into Greg’s muscles, the older man released a throaty moan—in response just a chuckle.

“Relax,” Mycroft said, and his voice was soft and warm. “I’ve got you.”

Greg melted into the bed under Mycroft’s attentions, groaning in pleasure as his hands worked him over, sinking deeper and deeper.

“So, Greg,” Mycroft said as his hands had wandered low enough to massage his bottom. “Where would you’ve taken me on a first date?”

Greg turned his head sideways so Mycroft could hear him. “Oh, I’m boring. Probably dinner. The cinema.”

“Theatre?” Mycroft asked.

“Regret to say that wasn’t on the forefront of my mind, but you’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you? Despite working for one.”

“Very much,” Mycroft confirmed. “Would you?”

“I don’t see why not. Having you there is a bonus, of course.”

“Charmer.”

They fell into silence again, and this time Greg heard the bottle… yet he was too gooey to tense up as he felt a cool finger slide down his crack. It entered easily, Greg exhaling with a sigh as he felt it slide in. Mycroft purred above him. He laid down, half on the bed on Greg’s left side, half on him, right index finger still inside. He pushed in a second and moved them leisurely, nibbling on Greg’s earlobe.

“So your first date would be at the theatre?” Greg asked, their eyes meeting. He knew he’d never get enough of the pink on Mycroft’s cheeks, the shining eyes.

“I’ve actually taken people to museums more often,” he said.

“Art lover, then?”

“Of course, but that’s not all… You can learn a lot about a person seeing how they behave with you at a museum. Are they running ahead, do they engage in conversation, are they paying mind to what you look at? Are they patient enough to endure you looking at a Monet for fifteen minutes?”

“Now you told me the answers. You can’t take me there anymore. I’ll behave perfectly, skew your carefully collected data.”

Mycroft twisted his fingers and all of a sudden the pleasurable pressure turned into urgency and Greg sucked in a sharp breath.

“Who’s cheeky now?”

“You?” Greg suggested.

“Up,” Mycroft said and pulled out his fingers, patted Greg’s cheeks. “Head on the bed.”

The position was slightly embarrassing, but Greg soon forgot about that when Mycroft settled in behind him and he found his cock nestled between his cheeks, rubbing up and down along his lubed crack. The head caught ever so slightly on his hole again and again… Greg started panting.

“You kept your promise.”

“Someone’s incredibly enticing…”

“Well, then fuck me already.”

“Impatient…” Mycroft chided him.

“Sorry.”

He heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper, was slightly disappointed at the lack of contact when Mycroft moved back to roll it on.

“Don’t be. It’s cute,” he said and pushed in.

“Oh god, oh fuck…” Greg groaned, hands fisting the blanket. “Ah….”

“How long since you’ve bottomed?” Mycroft asked with a level voice, the bastard.

“Years,” Greg managed.

Mycroft hummed. He moved forward slowly, though through liberal application of lube and Greg’s relaxed state it barely hurt. He pushed through the burn and breathed deeply when Mycroft was fully seated. The younger man stilled and Greg felt his fingers tracing the rim of his stretched hole as if he was examining it.

“Good?”

“Full…”

Mycroft chuckled. “You look amazing under me like this. Gorgeous.”

Greg preened. Mycroft put both hands on his cheeks and massaged them. “Relax,” he said and started moving slightly, simply grinding in Greg, getting him used to the stretch. Finally, the burn faded and Greg’s shoulders sank.

“Good boy.”

Mycroft pulled out almost completely, then pushed back in. He repeated the full movement over and over, with incredible patience. Greg’s world narrowed down to the slide, to that feeling of being filled over and over.

“God, I missed this…” he whispered, more to himself, yet Mycroft chuckled anyway. “You feel so good.”

“Just good?” Mycroft asked and pushed in harder.

“Fuck. Incredible. Amazing.”

“Thought so.”

Greg had to laugh. “I knew you’d be bossy in bed. So full of yourself.”

“There’s only one person here full of myself… and that’s you. Though, on second thought…” Mycroft pulled out and tapped Greg’s hip. “Turn over? I want to kiss you…”

Greg complied only too gladly. He rolled over and spread his legs once more, Mycroft kneeling in position between them. He breached him and both let out a moan during which they didn’t break eye contact. Mycroft leaned down and their lips met, Greg putting both hands in Mycroft’s hair, during all of which he never stopped moving, pushing in leisurely. Greg’s cock was trapped between them, rubbing against Mycroft’s stomach. Then Mycroft sat up again, grabbed Greg’s ankles and moved faster. Greg threw his head back in pleasure. His whole body was tingling. He felt warm and soft, like clay in Mycroft’s hands.

When Mycroft sped up he had half a mind to stop him because he didn’t want it all to end, but he craved something else too: He wanted to see Mycroft’s face when he came, feel him twitch inside him. Greg sneaked a hand down low and started stroking himself.

“Gregory…” Mycroft moaned.

He looked absolutely perfect. Mouth hanging open with heavy breaths, a flush down his chest. Mycroft let his legs go, leaned forward again, both hands on Greg’s chest, pushing him down into the bed with delicious pressure. He moved faster, and Greg sped up his hand in response. His eyes were mesmerising, staring down as if he wanted to own Greg, claim him.

“Myc—”

Greg started, but couldn’t finish as he came, all over his stomach and Mycroft’s too, so hard some splashes found their way up to his face. Mycroft slowed down a bit at that, fingers gliding through the mess on his chin.

“I wish I could taste you…” he murmured, grinding against him. “And fill you up properly. Come inside you, not drawing out until I get hard again, do it all over… until you’re dripping…”

Greg’s cock gave a feeble attempt at twitching at Mycroft’s words, his hole clenching.

“Fuck, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mycroft said and collected the mess on Greg’s chest with one hand. “Well, since it’s your own it's not the same, but…”

He pulled his cock out, let Greg’s own cum drip down over and into his hole. Greg moaned shamelessly at the feeling. It was cooled already, so he felt every drop running down his skin. Mycroft hadn’t joked. He really was here to defile him…

“My, you look perfect like this,” Mycroft praised him and used his fingers to push in as much of the liquid as he could, before placing his cock at the opening.

As he pushed in once more, it sounded filthy and wet. The slide was so easy, it was incredible. Greg felt his own…

“Aaaahhh…” he gasped, throwing his head back.

“Good?” Mycroft asked, cocky as always.

Greg could only nod, his whole body tense. He wished he could get hard again. He had never felt so aroused so soon after he’d come. Then he felt a hand around his cock, enclosing it completely in it’s slack state. It warmed the sticky remnants still clinging to it. Mycroft held him gently, Greg’s cock moving slightly with the movement that he made fucking him. It wasn’t fast, but it was enough. Greg’s eyes filled with tears. He was completely overwhelmed. Everything was just barely too much.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Mycroft whispered as he moved his hips in a never-ending wave.

“Ye… yes…” Greg managed, his voice wavering.

“You’re doing so well…”

Greg let the words go through him and just let go. All tension left his body as he let it sink completely into Mycroft’s hands, and all that mattered was his touch.

“Yes… fuck…” he heard Mycroft say and his voice was harsh, full of the tension Greg had relinquished.

He opened his eyes to see Mycroft’s closed, as he was moving faster in an effort to come, taking everything he wanted from Greg’s body.

“You’re beautiful…” Greg whispered and that was it.

The grip around his cock loosened and Mycroft bent over him, crying, moaning as he pulsed deep inside, grinding his hips. As soon as he stilled, Greg reached up to draw him down into an embrace they both seemed to need desperately, if the way they clung to each other was any indication.

“Gregory… How… My god… You were absolutely perfect…”

Greg grinned against Mycroft’s cheek.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said.

“You did everything… You gave yourself to me… Oh, I wanted to bite and scratch and come inside you to claim you…”

“Let’s get tested, then. I want that too. I’m reasonably sure I’m clean, but…”

Mycroft held him closer. “I know. I’m a bit of a wild card.”

“Mhm…” Greg said and stroked his back. “I have to trust you to keep this here exclusive… as long as we’re fucking.”

“Yes. Yes, I promise.”

Greg held the younger man a bit closer, kissed his neck. “Can I mark you?” he asked.

“Please.”

He sucked a bruise into the juncture of Mycroft’s neck and shoulder… then allowed the other to do the same to him. They both viewed their masterpiece with satisfaction.

“Alright. Let’s get cleaned up,” Greg said. “I feel tacky.”

“Ooh, do I get to clean you?” Mycroft asked and let his hands wander lower.

“Yes, you menace…”


	8. Chapter 8

They had settled on Greg’s sofa after a shower, both dressed in fresh pants and shirts from Greg’s wardrobe. It was already quite late, but none of them wanted to fall asleep just yet. The telly wasn’t running, but they’d put the radio on in the background, some nondescript pop music just barely audible.

Mycroft sat sideways next to Greg, legs over his lap, right hand playing with the hairs on the back of his neck… Greg’s right hand on Mycroft’s bare leg, stroking the skin.

“This is nice,” Greg murmured, gazing into Mycroft’s eyes. “I forgot how nice it is to have someone to hold.”

“Kiss me again,” Mycroft said.

“What? Again?” Greg replied in a mock-offended tone. “Haven’t I kissed you just now?”

“Don’t think so. Refresh my memory?”

“Cheeky…” 

Greg put his left hand into Mycroft’s hair, incredibly fluffy from just having been washed, pulled him in closer. They kissed like lovers, slow, unhurried, warm. He felt Mycroft moan into his mouth, his fingers digging into the back of Greg’s head. He went soft and pliant in his hands, as if Greg lips on his was all he needed.

Greg’s ached for this man. This impossible man, who took up so much of Greg’s thoughts and desires, he wondered how anything else had room in his head… and heart.

“Gregory…” Mycroft whispered as they parted.

His cheeks were pink again, his eyes half-open, his hair mussed.

“You’re temptation incarnate…” Greg said, one hand now moving upwards from Mycroft’s legs to his chest, under the shirt.

“You’re not too bad your—”

Mycroft’s breath left him in a rush as Greg suddenly pinched his nipple. Then he laughed, bright and happy. Greg smoothed the raised flesh by brushing his fingers over it and Mycroft purred.

“You’re a quick study,” he laughed.

“If you’re going to be my partner, I need to know everything that gets you off.”

“I’m not that choosy,” Mycroft admitted. “You could probably get me off by talking dirty.”

“Something to try. Well, what’s your favourite way, then?”

Mycroft looked into Greg’s eyes, drew him back in for another sweet kiss, then held their foreheads together. “My favourite is when I see my partner writhe under me in pleasure, given by my hand… finding things they didn’t even know they liked and making them lose their head.”

“What if you’ve found everything? Does it become boring?” Greg asked. Will I become boring, he thought.

“Not at all,” Mycroft said and gripped the hairs on the back of Greg’s head tightly, who felt the slight pain running through him like a wave of electricity. “What could be better than being able to make the one you love feel like this?”

Greg’s breath hitched at the word love. What would it be like to be loved by Mycroft? Not just being used as a temporary distraction? He had a feeling that they were moving past that stage rapidly, but there was still no guarantee they wouldn’t part ways when the month—this sweet month removed from time—was over. An intense longing spread through his body. A need to have Mycroft as close as possible while he still could.

“Fuck me,” he said. “Right here. Now.”

“Yes.”

Mycroft tackled him, on his lap properly now, both hands in Greg’s hair. They were both half hard already, and the grinding motion made their pants tent obscenely.

“Why did we even bother with these?” Greg asked as they stripped out of their shirts, threw them god knows where.

“A false sense of propriety?” Mycroft suggested.

“Fuck that,” Greg growled and bit down on Mycroft’s neck, who twisted under him, moaning his approval loudly.

“I concur,” Mycroft answered and it sounded so out of place in his breathy voice that Greg had to laugh. “Don’t move. I’m getting the supplies from the bedroom.”

Greg watched Mycroft go, admiring his lean physique as he got to his feet in one fluid move. He wasn’t a lanky youth—he was younger than him, yes… but too old for that—no he was simply elegant, in control. Greg swallowed. He wanted Mycroft to be in control of him. How would he… A thought fluttered into his head, one that made his cock jump, so that he found it probably wasn’t a bad one at all.

With shaking hands he pulled down his pants and discarded them. Then he kneeled on the sofa, bending forward so that his shoulders rested on top of the backrest, arms crossed underneath his head. He spread his legs a bit further, opened himself up to the view of the man who just stepped back into the room and dropped the bottle of lube, if the noise was any indication.

“Gregory…” Mycroft breathed. “Oh, Gregory.”

Mycroft’s footsteps were muffled by the carpet, yet Greg counted them in anticipation. Then a single finger found its way on Greg’s neck. He dragged it slowly down his spine, through his crack, over his partially visible hole. Greg shivered at his touch.

“Like this?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes, please. Just take me.”

“Ssshh, no more demands now. I’ll give you what you need. Trust me.”

“I do,” Greg answered.

Mycroft’s hand stilled for a moment, then he drew back. The next thing Greg felt was cool liquid running over his hole. He groaned at the mental image of how he might look to Mycroft right now. Then two hands were on him, and immediately two thumbs at his hole. Greg took a deep breath and tried to relax.

“Please,” he managed.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “Anything you want, my darling.”

He pushed both thumbs in together. The stretch was magnificent. Greg keened from pleasurable pain, the intrusion too much at once, but perfect because he wanted it too much. He breathed through the adjustment, Mycroft’s thumbs wiggling slightly inside of him, pulling him apart, the rest of his fingers massaging his cheeks.

“Beautiful…” Mycroft murmured and pushed his thumbs in further at the slightest indication of Greg’s relaxation. “At some point I’ll have you show yourself off this way, spreading yourself with your own hands. I’ll bring over my toys… play with you… maybe I’ll come inside and plug you afterwards…”

“Please…” 

Greg pushed back against Mycroft’s hands. His voice was like a dream, promising a future of pleasure. Greg felt small, electric shocks running over his skin just listening to him.

“Would you like that? I’ll push a vibrator into you like this, your hands tied behind your back, edging you until you scream.”

“My…” Greg whispered, fully aware that his hole was already clenching in anticipation. Yet when Mycroft chuckled, he didn’t feel shame.

“Gregory… Gregory I want to spank you. Like this. Now.”

Greg stilled. “I’ve never…”

“Never?”

“No. I’m not sure I’ll like it.”

Mycroft pulled his thumbs out, massaged both cheeks with his hands. He waited a moment, during which he apparently thought about something. 

“Let me try. If you don’t like it we’ll stop immediately. Just say stop and I’ll fuck you instead.”

“Alright. I trust you.”

Mycroft’s fingers tightened on him for a moment, a reverent intake of breath. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

Mycroft placed a kiss on Greg’s arse and immediately afterwards brought one hand down. It wasn’t hard, yet the impact had come so unexpectedly that Greg jumped. It hurt, a little. It was also warm where Mycroft’s hand had been. Greg took a deep breath.

“Okay?”

He nodded. Another strike to his other cheek. This time he’d expected it. He felt the impact ripple through him, a gentle warmth spreading through his body in response. Mycroft gently stroked his fingers over the warm skin. Then he drew his hand back again. The next three strikes were delivered in quick succession, one harder as the next. Greg felt each of them directly in his cock, which jumped on impact, the sensation running over his skin in waves. He moaned with every strike, fingers digging into the back of the sofa. He was panting already.

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, his voice a bit breathy too.

“Good,” Greg managed to say. “Warm.”

“Oh, darling.”

Mycroft put his arms around him, holding him for a moment, rubbing himself against Greg’s behind. He placed kisses on his back before he dragged his nails down the skin. Greg hissed at the different sort of pain, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Can you take five more?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy,” Mycroft said again and that treacherous pleasure centre in Greg’s brain spat out endorphins at the endearment, making him preen.

The next strikes were even harder. There were tears in Greg’s eyes at the end of them, his arse on fire. He was panting, unfocused. He barely registered Mycroft’s fingers brushing over his hole, but then they wandered lower, over his balls, ever forward until they enveloped his cock. He was so hard. So hard. Greg moaned as he was touched, breath catching when Mycroft encountered the leaking fluid on the head.

“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. Was it good?”

“Yes. Didn’t think it would be.”

“It’s not for everyone… but I figured you had the inclination to be handled roughly. And I would so like to be the one who hurts you right.”

“I feel a bit floaty…” Greg admitted.

“Come here for a moment.”

Mycroft sat down next to him and patted his lap. He’d already discarded his pants, so Greg sat down, slotting their erections neatly together. They both groaned at the contact, the pleasurable warmth. Mycroft put his arms around him, gently pushed Greg’s head to rest on his shoulder.

“Better?” he asked, stroking Greg’s hair.

“Yes.”

Greg was still hard, but the earlier urgency was gone. He put his arms around Mycroft in turn.

“Mycroft?”

“Mhm?”

“Is it weird that I like to be held like this?”

“Not at all.”

Greg swallowed. “Is it weird that I like it because… because I know you’re so much younger?”

Mycroft kissed his ear, rubbed his cheek against Greg’s head. “Of course not. It’s part of the appeal, I believe.”

“Feels a bit dirty…”

“Good dirty?”

Greg thought a moment, then nodded. He was glad Mycroft couldn’t see how red his face was.

“You’re getting off on being manhandled by me because I’m younger. That’s absolutely fine. In fact I encourage it.”

“Been doing that a lot then?”

Mycroft hummed. “It’s more common than you think. You had that look in your eyes when you watched me in the cafe. I assumed you… were aware of the attraction.”

“Not until now.”

Mycroft reached between them, enveloped both of their cocks in his hand and started stroking them. Greg keened and clung closer, rocking slightly. He breathed heavily into Mycroft’s neck as the motion agitated the warm skin on his arse. Mycroft let his other hand wander lower to squeeze him there and Greg felt the pain as a counterpoint to the pleasure. It was heaven.

“Fuck. So good…” Greg whispered.

“Yes. You’re being very good, darling.”

Greg couldn’t help it. He pressed his cheek closer into Mycroft’s hand.

“Please. Again.”

“What, my sweet?”

“Hit me, please.”

“Here?” Mycroft asked, patting him.

“Yesss…” Greg hissed.

“You can bite me if it becomes too much,” Mycroft said. “Tell me immediately if you want to stop.”

Greg nodded and felt Mycroft turn his head to give his ear a kiss, then place his mouth right next to it. “Come on, then. Shout for me.”

He brought his hand down hard. Greg jumped, their cocks rubbing against each other, where Mycroft was still stroking them. The angle was different like this, but it was still good… Another strike. Greg gasped. His cock pulsed. This was beyond embarrassing. Being held like this, manipulated, spanked. Yet every thought in this direction only inflamed him further.

The next strike brought tears to his eyes. He sobbed as his cock grew impossibly harder, and Mycroft seemed to realise it too, as he hummed contently.

“You’re doing really well,” he said and struck Greg again. “You can come whenever you like.”

He stroked a bit faster and Greg’s fingers dug in his back, where he held onto his lover. So good… so good… he panted. Mycroft waited until Greg was taking a deep breath, the next strike knocking the air out of him by surprise. Greg’s heart was beating so fast. Both of Mycroft’s hands sped up. A quick succession of hits and Greg felt himself leaking, easing the glide. It was too much. Greg opened his mouth and bit down on Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft groaned in response, and his cock twitched against him.

“Yes, come on…” he hissed and hit Greg again.

This time he didn’t let up. The individual strikes weren’t very hard, but they were a constant presence that pushed Greg higher and higher. Now he was actually floating. Between all the sensations he found himself clinging to Mycroft as his only anchor.

Then, suddenly, he felt the pressure in his body overwhelming him. He gasped open-mouthed against Mycroft’s skin as he came, pulsed, shot himself over Mycroft’s hand and stomach. He was dimly aware of the hand squeezing his behind, crying as he rode out his high.

“Fuck, Gregory…” Mycroft moaned beneath him and he felt another warmth between them as Mycroft came as well, joining the mess. He panted and shivered under him. “Gregory… Greg…”

“Mycroft…” he whined, pushing himself through the mess until he was too sensitive to continue. “Holy shit.”

“You are delightfully responsive.”

Greg reached down to squeeze Mycroft’s nipples, which earned him a pleased gasp. “You’re one to talk.”

Mycroft grinned. “Now we have to shower again.”

“I have a feeling we're going to be a very clean couple…”

Mycroft smiled at him, but there was a bit of sadness in his eyes. They got up and walked to the shower, Greg gathering Mycroft in his arms immediately.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m stupid.”

Greg hadn’t heard Mycroft this unsure yet. “Really?”

“I’m already waiting for the moment you realise you don’t want this after all.”

Greg tensed. “What makes you think that?”

“It never lasts. I’ve been left too many times to hope. But I’m happy you’re willing to try.”

“Why would anyone leave you? You’re amazing.”

Mycroft laughed, bright and sad at the same time. “Darling, it’s not the sex you’d leave me for.”

He fell into silence, turning Greg around, proceeded to slowly massage body wash into his back and abused arse. Greg melted under his attentions, but Mycroft’s words weighed on his mind still.

“You know, that’s my phrase, actually. In a few weeks I’ll go back to work and you’ll quickly learn what a boring, old man I am. Married to my work. Tired.”

“Let me get a chance to see for myself before I judge. Besides, how can you be boring? You’re a detective. That alone requires a flexible and creative mind.”

“Then let me get a chance to see how you are before you jump to conclusions too, alright?”

Mycroft’s hands stilled. “Touche. Okay.”

Greg turned around and tilted his head up slightly to kiss Mycroft. It was slow and gentle. Loving.

“Give me some time to fall in love with you,” Greg said as they parted.

“You really want that?”

“Yes.”

Mycroft’s hands tightened on Greg’s arms. His eyes were averted when he talked.

“I’m generally described as a social butterfly. I… I love going out, meeting people. Since I’m never attached, I usually have casual flings with a lot of people. Sometimes the same people, mostly new ones.”

“People you find. Like me,” Greg said.

“Yes. I intended to have you for one night only, but then you… you solved that problem so creatively. I was intrigued.”

“Glad I made an impression.”

Mycroft smiled and their eyes did meet. Another sweet kiss.

“I’ve just about given up to find a permanent attachment. My lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to one. I couldn’t even count on one hand how often I’ve been accused of cheating. Since I have so many encounters, I run into them basically everywhere. Worse still, I remain friends with most of them.”

“Like Alex.”

“Exactly. I’m tired of being accused. Of not being trusted. Yes, I love my friends. I’m very tactile. I kiss many of them hello and goodbye. I love cuddling. That doesn’t mean I’m cheating,” he said and his voice was close to tears. “Just because I’ve done so many things and don’t shy away from talking about what I’ve done with other people doesn’t mean I’m unfaithful. That anyone would need to be jealous.”

Greg took all of this in silently, holding on to Mycroft under the hot water. “We’ll try. I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”

“Yes,” Mycroft said and held him closer. “Yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Hey, Greg! What are you doing here? You look great!”

Greg froze at the sound of the voice behind him. It couldn’t be… He turned and there she was: Sally. In a black and sparkly studded shirt, dark grey cloth trousers.

“No, you look great,” he said.

“Thanks, I know. No deflecting though. Tell me what you’re doing here.”

“You first?” he suggested.

Sally smiled at him. “Alright. My cousin is in the play. Not a main role, but nonetheless. It’s at the NT… so I had to come support him on opening night. You?”

“I… someone I know works on the play. Behind the scenes.”

“Someone you know?” she asked in that very special tone of voice. “Don’t tell me it’s your girlfriend.”

“My what?” Greg sputtered.

“You know… the reason you emerged from your holidays much happier than a mere timeout in London could’ve ever achieved.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Gregory! There you are!” Mycroft shouted and just like that Greg was jumped from behind, arms around his shoulders, a kiss on his cheek. “You made it.”

Greg couldn’t help it, even though Sally’s eyes grew wide. His own features softened and he let himself be embraced, kissed softly. There was absolutely no debate now on why and for whom he was here. And somehow, despite his earlier caution, in the face of Mycroft’s joy he found that he didn’t actually care.

“Hey Mycroft,” he said. “All prepared for the show?”

“Well, I don’t actually have to do much anymore, but yes. Just wanted to see you before it starts.”

“You’ll be watching from behind the stage?”

“For tonight, yes. Overseeing if everything works out… I don’t actually have to, since the rehearsals went really well, but…”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else, perfectionist that you are.”

Mycroft gave him another kiss, then looked forward, chin resting on Greg’s shoulder. Greg looked ahead as well, into Sally’s expectant eyes. He sighed.

“Mycroft, this is Sally. She’s my partner at work. Sally, this is Mycroft. He’s… he’s my boyfriend,” he said and even though he said it with conviction, his ears felt hot.

Mycroft extended a hand. “Pleasure,” he said.

“You don’t even know,” she replied. “We had a bet going at the office. Everyone was certain Greg had picked someone up during this holidays. Everyone but me was betting on girlfriend. I bet on boyfriend.”

“You what?” Greg blurted out while Mycroft giggled into his ear. “How did you…”

“Come on. You don’t want to know how many times I caught you ogling the crown prosecutor’s arse over the last years. Not that I blame you. I’ve done so myself on occasion.”

“Oh god,” Greg sighed and put his face in both hands.

“Now that’s interesting information, darling,” Mycroft said. “We should get a drink sometimes.”

“Anytime,” Sally replied with a smirk.

“No, no, no. You’re not forming an alliance against me!” Greg said. “My poor heart can’t stand it.”

“Your heart is fine. You’re getting enough workout,” Mycroft said with a grin and gave Greg another kiss before he turned to leave. “See you at the drinks afterwards? Ah, and take a look at the credits of the play in the playbill, would you?”

“Yes…” Greg said, left behind, mortified.

He stared after Mycroft where he disappeared into the crowd. Then Sally put a hand on his arm. “He’s cute.”

“Please, don’t say anything about his age. I beg you.”

“That’s none of my business. You seem happy.”

“I am.”

Sally smiled. “And that’s all that counts.”

Greg looked at her with clear gratitude in his eyes. He didn’t mind their obvious age gap, but he wasn’t sure how accepted it would be.

“What was that about the playbill?” she asked.

“No idea…” Greg admitted and opened the little program he’d bought at the entrance. He leafed through the pages, past the actors and a small interview to reach the supporter credits, and…

“Stage design: Mycroft Holmes & Gregory Lestrade. Well, I never. Greg! What other talents are you keeping hidden?”

Greg was baffled and he looked it. “I merely contributed a small idea. It was an accident.”

“Well, someone likes you well enough to share the spotlight. What was your idea?”

“Everything that glows in the dark. You’ll see,” he said. “We have to go in now. It’s starting in a few minutes.”

Sally nodded and made her way to the seats. Greg followed her mutely, staring again at his name in the playbill. The bastard. He’d said nothing. These must’ve gone into print a while ago. Had Mycroft been so sure Greg would still be with him until now? His heart did something complicated, which was a cross between aching and jumping. Tonight. He’d tell him tonight.

The play was riveting. Greg’s heart rate shot up when a few audience members gasped at the glowing handprint on the neck of the victim, and the row of prints left on the furniture. He had to admit that it looked quite dramatic. If only actual killers would leave such obvious prints, then his work would be much easier. Mycroft joined him in the break, all shining eyes and bright smiles, looking radiant. Greg was introduced to some of the staff, and Mycroft couldn’t seem to let him go, watching the second half of the play from the audience, hanging on Greg’s arm. After the standing ovation, he led him backstage, where the actors and supporters had already started the small party.

Mycroft had absolutely no problem being seen with him. He introduced him all around as his boyfriend the genius, who had the idea with the glowing paint… and Greg even had a longer discussion about his own screenplay with the playwright. It was a joyous affair, which ended too soon, since the actors were all tired after the long night.

When they walked out of the building, arm in arm, Mycroft didn’t immediately steer them towards his flat, but rather towards the Thames, walking with Greg until they reached the Southbank, standing at the railing over the river, watching the moonlight reflected on the high tide. It wasn’t cold, but it was fresh and Greg had put his arm and part of his jacket around Mycroft, who stood as close as he could.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Mycroft looked pleased. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes. The play was amazing.”

“Mhm. It was. And you were properly credited too. Just wait for the press night. I’m sure they’ll write something good about the paint.”

“You… you were very sure I’d still be here,” Greg said.

Mycroft looked at him, bright blue eyes shining even in the darkness. “Of course.”

Greg swallowed, then leaned in for a soft kiss, which was received with a sigh.

“Mycroft… I—”

“I love you, Gregory. I’ve known for a while now. I love you and—”

“You bastard, you cut me off! I wanted to say the same thing! I love you, you idiot.”

Mycroft was briefly startled, then he swept Greg up in a tight embrace, in which he briefly lost contact with the ground. Mycroft was much stronger then he looked… a fact, which Greg didn’t mind at all. Especially not in the bedroom.

“I need to take you home right now,” Mycroft said and pulled Greg along. “I have a surprise for you.”

“The filthy kind of surprise?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along for the ride!


End file.
